


A Simple Plan

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Jeremy Renner - Fandom, RPF - Fandom
Genre: Funny, Minor Violence, Multi, Sexy, Slapstick, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All they wanted was to catch a glimpse of their favorite star -- then they saw him duck into a bar for a drink, and next thing they knew there were in the middle of a kidnapping, dragging him unconscious through Moscow, handcuffed in a trunk and riding in a kamikaze bus. Slapstick mixed with sexy and nothing but fun. I blame Katya for the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Katya wanted me to write about two fans who end up spending some *ahem* quality time with JFR. This is what I ended up with. I firmly believe he has a sense of humor and would be a good sport about things. Enjoy!

Another city, punch-drunk from crossing too many time zones in too few days, he settled onto the bar stool, tucking his chin into the collar of his leather jacket and tugging the baseball cap firmly down over his hair. For this late in the afternoon, the place was pretty full, only three empty seats at the bar; he took the middle one to put space around him. Just one drink, he thought, one damn drink for ten damn minutes before the next whirlwind of appearances, handshaking, smiling, pictures, and screams.  That’s all he wanted, just time to breathe and catch up to himself.  Not that he didn’t like his job and the life; he enjoyed it on most days, when he wasn’t so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open, hardly aware of what continent he was on much less what day it was. But times like these – these world premiere tours, 7 cities in 10 days, would tax even the calmest of psyches.

What he needed was a day or two off. Maybe a weekend. Four movies in the span on just over a year was overload; the publicity alone had him flying across so many time zones he’d probably invented time travel. Some little cabin in the woods was sounding great. Or his house in LA, the one he’d bought for himself and still hadn’t really started rehabbing yet. But basically, sleeping for 48 consecutive hours would suffice.

The bartender sat the drink in front of him, and he remembered the Russian word for thanks in time to mutter it. They were probably looking for him already; he didn’t slip the leash often, but, damn it, a person needed some down time. Security would find him soon enough – the guys the studio used were good – and it’s not like he didn’t leave an easy trail to follow. Just ten minutes. That’s all he asked.

He took his first sip of the vodka, the good stuff, when he noticed her slip into the stool on his right. A ginger, red hair short in a sassy little cut that emphasized her pretty face and her bright hazel eyes. Everyday clothes – boots with heels, slacks, sweater, long coat – but the sweater clung to her full breasts and the fabric pulled over her lovely ass as she settled in, flipping her coat out from under her. Her voice was seductive and sexy as she ordered a local beer, the language flowing off her tongue easily, obviously a native speaker. The thought crossed his mind … it had been awhile for him … and a long weekend with a lovely redhead was tempting. He didn’t normally go in for the girl-in-every-country that some of his colleagues did; he preferred to get to know the person first, but hell, with his schedule there was little to no time for dating. He could get her number, call her later (he thought he wasn’t leaving until the day after that, but days and dates were blurring together), maybe get together. Aw, who was he kidding? Odds were, he’d be lucky to get an hour or two, max, to himself, and even then his PA would probably come up with some new interview to do.

“Screwdriver, please, with Russian Standard.” The very American voice came from his left,  soft with a hint of Southern drawl, not that fake Hollywood mangling, but the long vowels of a real speaker. Another redhead, what were the odds? Short hair too, but a brighter red and dark chocolate eyes that were warm and friendly. She wore jeans and a snug t-shirt under a slim purple cardigan, and her body was all curves, definitely not a skinny model, but a woman whose waist nipped in before flaring back out over her hips. When it rains, he thought, it pours.  He entertained the idea briefly; after all, why not? Then he knew why not; too little time and energy, and hell, he didn’t want to disappoint anyone, so he’d just have to sit and let the interviewers ask him the same inane questions over and over again.

“Vika,” the American leaned back and spoke to the Russian woman. “I think you were right after all.”

“I don’t know. What do you think?” Vika responded, leaning back too. He couldn’t help but notice two very lovely sets of breasts twisted his way.

“Ladies, I’d be glad to switch seats so you can sit together.” Not that he wouldn’t enjoy staying where he was … between them sounded good to his weary head.

“Oh, no,” the American said quickly. “We don’t want to put you out.” She looked at him again and he kept his head tilted down, hoping she didn’t recognize him.

“You’re American? Here on business?” she asked, and he smiled.

“Yes, I am.” He pushed back from his stool and stood up, leaving his drink on the bar. “Here, slide over and you two can have your drinks together.”

The stool legs weren’t entirely even, it bumped across the wooden floor rather than sliding, and she tumbled off inelegantly; he caught before she hit the floor and that lush body pressed up against his for a few seconds as she righted herself.

“I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, face flushed with embarrassment. “I haven’t even started drinking yet, and I’m already falling down!”

“It’s okay. That stool’s wobbly.” His hand on her elbow, he kept it there until she’d climbed onto his empty seat – she was fairly short, feet swinging just short of the foot rest – and then he switched their drinks as he carefully sat, hiding his semi-aroused state.

“Thanks,” she gave him an appraising look and a little smile; in Hollywood, neither of the women would be considered beautiful – and, god, he hated that fake plastic idea of beauty his industry sold to women – but they were both lovely, real faces with the bodies of real women.

“No problem.” He picked up his glass, drops already condensing on the outside, intent on taking a slow sip, and then he saw them in the mirror, the two security men. Looked like his time was quickly running out. “You visiting?”

“Vika and I have known each other since she studied in the U.S.  We manage to eke out a couple times a year to see each other.” They exchanged worried glances, but he was too busy checking the men’s progress to take note. One small drink was all he was going to get, so he savored it, letting the little bit sit on his tongue before he swallowed.

“Is something wrong?” Vika asked, cutting her eyes to her friend. “Are those men here for you?”

“Everything’s alright …” he began, but the Russian woman was already off of seat and pulling his arm; the move was unexpected, and he fell off, taking a few faltering steps with her as the American put her hands on his back, pushing him along.

“They may be kidnappers. Just last week, a child of a business man was taken from the city,” she said, concern evident in her voice.

He let the women hustle to the end of the bar, half-amused at the turn of events and his would-be heroes. Just as he opened his mouth to explain, the two men cleared their way through the tables, closing in on them.

“You need to come with us.” The taller of the two said, with a heavy accent. The company hired local ex-military men; they were good at their jobs, just not necessarily the greatest of conversationalists. If he hadn’t known who they were, he’d think they were thugs out to cause trouble with their guns clearly evident under their jackets; he didn’t blame the women for jumping to conclusions.

“Look, everything’s ….” He began.

“Help!” Vika shouted in Russian. “They want to kidnap him.”

A couple of men rose from the bar, and more from their seats at the tables. Things were spiraling quickly out of control and he tried to tell them who the men were, but his voice was lost in the sudden chaos. The crowd rushed forward, cutting him off from the guards, and the two women pulled and pushed him through a bathroom hallway and out the back door as he heard the sound of breaking glass. The alleyway the emerged into was wet from the recent rain and littered with garbage from an overflowing dumpster.

“Ladies, really, I appreciate this …” As he tried to step back, his heel hit a patch of slick wet paper and he was falling backwards before he knew it. Hands tried to catch him, concerned faces disappeared from view, and he went down, hard, pain flaring up from the back of skull just before he blacked out.

* * *

 

“Oh, god, oh, god,” Meg was chanting as she helped Vika pick him up from the ground. He was out cold; she felt his neck for his pulse. “He’s alive.”

Sounds filtered out the closed door from the bar, yelling and crashing. There was no time to panic.

“We have to get him to the car before those men come for him.” Vika said as they balanced him between them; he was heavier than he looked, all muscle. They began to move, carrying him along with them; his head lolled onto Vika’s shoulder as his feet dragged along the cobblestone of the street. As quickly as they could, without drawing attention to themselves, they turned the nearest corner and hustled towards the parking garage where they’d left the Meg’s rental car.

“So much for the seducing him strategy.” Meg said with a wiry sense of humor. “I knew it was too good to be true when he was alone.”

“It was fate, and you know it. Two empty seats? He was interested. We could have at least gotten his number out of it.” Vika argued. Really it had been a simple enough idea; find him and talk to him. Meg wasn’t sure they’d get anything other than his autograph and a drink, but she knew they’d both have been willing for more. She’d wanted an adventure to take her mind off of her humdrum life of crappy job and stressful responsibilities. Do something wild, they’d agreed. Get crazy. Once in a lifetime opportunity. Now, here they were carting an unconscious superstar between them, running from thugs bent on kidnapping him. Adventure, indeed.

“Stoyat! Stop!” The shout came from behind them. Risking a glance back, Meg saw the men round the corner, barreling out onto the street.

“Chert!” Vika muttered under her breath; darting into a hotel lobby, they slowed and headed for the elevator bank.

“Too early to be drinking so much,” Meg said loudly as a couple passed them. “He can’t hold his vodka.”

As soon as the doors opened, they got him inside, and Vika pushed the button for every floor.

“What the hell are we doing?” Meg asked.

“Hell if I know! Saving him from the bad guys.” Vika looked at her. “Right?”

They got off on the third floor and, after consulting the emergency evacuation map, took the back stairwell down to the ground, exiting through a loading dock onto another street.

“I am so out of shape,” Vika complained. Meg’s legs were screaming and her shoulder ached from his weight. He was definitely going to have bruises from going down those stairs.

Somehow they managed to make it to the small slot they’d wedged the car in. Tiny, with only two doors, the Daewoo Matiz was more like a wind-up toy; turning sideways, they slid between the cars, resting him against the side of the bigger sedan next to them, Meg propping him up. Vika opened the trunk, letting the hood rise up on its hinges. There had been barely enough room for Meg’s little rolling suitcase, much less a man’s body.

“Seriously? How are we going to get him in this box?” Meg was bending under his weight, trying to keep them both upright. Vika shrugged, and, arms hanging over their shoulders, they lifted him.

“Turn him around, ass first.” Meg suggested; maneuvering the three of them in the small space was like a really bad tango. First Meg stumbled over his foot, almost losing her balance, and then Vika banged her elbow against the concrete wall. A loud thunk sounded as his head banged into the edge of the hood, and he moaned.

“Watch it!” Vika hissed quietly, but then she was giggling at the absurdity of the whole situation.

“Stop that.” Meg demanded, starting to laugh herself.

By the time they got his backside onto the floor of the trunk, they were biting their lips to keep the chuckles quiet in the echo of the garage.  They folded him up in the tiny space, the trunk cover flopping down time and again to hit them, refusing to stay up. His mouth was mashed into the back seat cushion, his arms crossed to keep his fingers from getting smashed, and his knees up near his head.

After looking at each other, and then the man crunched up like a rag doll, they reached together for the open door, pulling it down with a thump; it didn’t catch, and he groaned as it banged into him.  Closing her eyes, Meg bumped the door hard with her hip, feeling the latch lock as she did. They leaned back, breathing hard to keep from descending into gales of laughter.

“You know how to get a body like his?” Meg asked Vika.

“How?”

 “Push real hard.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handcuffs, a car trunk ... what more could you ask?

His head hurt, both at the back of his skull and on his forehead. Various other aches assailed him; feet (which were bare, no sign of his shoes or socks), knees (thankfully still covered by his jeans), elbows and arms (yep, t-shirt was still there but his coat was gone). Eyes opened to a dark room, just one dim lamp, cupboards along the wall, a small night stand, and a very comfortable mattress beneath his back. Running his hand through his hair, he felt a big knot on his temple and another on the back of his head; they hurt when he touched them, a sure sign of bruising.

Sitting up, the world spun a little, but settled down. Despite taking at least two hard knocks to the head, he didn’t seem to have a concussion; looking around he saw his phone and watch neatly laid out on the table, along with a bottle of water and Tylenol waiting for him. He swung his feet over and popped the childproof top (American made, he thought), palmed four of the red and blue capsules and swallowed them dry, chasing them with a gulp of water.

“Oh, you’re awake. Good.” Vika stood in the doorway, concern on her face. “We were worried about you. You went down pretty hard.” She moved into the room with a graceful stride, dropping beside him on the bed.

“Um, we’re sorry, by the way.” Meg said from the doorway. “For the fall and everything. We sort of just reacted when we realized they were trying to kidnap you. Then we didn’t know who to contact. There hasn’t been anything on the news at all.”

“Well, about that. They weren’t trying to kidnap me. Those were security guards hired to protect me.” He groaned a little as his body protested; he wiggled his feet and wondered about the bruises there.

“What?” Vika was shocked and she closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Oh, I am so sorry ….”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. They didn’t help with that ‘come with us’ line and the obvious guns. No harm, no foul, okay?” He reached for the phone. “I’ll just call Lou and let him know what happened. It’ll be no problem.”

Lou’s phone rang six times before he answered. “Yeah?” He sounded weird, almost drowned out by the background noise and voices.

“Lou. It’s me. I’m fine. Don’t panic.” He knew Lou was just as likely to yell at him as he was to pass out.

“What? Who? Oh, Robert, yeah, it’s you. We’ve got nothing new here on this end. Look, I need to finish this conversation with the police. Can I call you right back in say …” he paused, obviously talking to someone in the room “… 30 minutes? I’ll be able to give you the latest update.”

“Hey, it’s me. Everything’s okay ….”

Lou cut him off. “Tell the studio bigwigs to hold their horses on a statement. I’ll be right back with you.”

The line went dead, and he stared at the screen as if there was some answer there, but he had nothing. It was as if Lou didn’t want anyone to know he’d called, pretending he was Robert from the PR department of the studio. “That was weird. He’s going to call back in 30 minutes.”

“We’re so sorry,” Meg reiterated Vika’s earlier apology. “Really. We thought you were in danger. What with that kidnapping last week, it’s a way some of the cartels make money, holding people for ransom. A famous person like you? You’d be a big ticket item.”

He looked at both of them, for the first time noticing the DVDs by the TV and the background on the laptop on the desk. “You knew who I was?”

Vika’s cheeks reddened a little. “We were going to the interview studio to wait by the door. Thought we might get an autograph. Then we saw you go into that bar and, well, why not?”

“It was supposed to be an adventure, you know? Have a regular conversation, a drink or two, get an autograph … I’ve always thought it would be better to act normal than all ‘oh my god’ and screaming.” Meg shrugged, amused. “Then things went sideways and here you are.”

“Yeah, I get enough of the crazy. A nice quiet drink now and then is nice.” He pushed up from the bed, weaved a little bit, and then nodded towards the door in front of him. “Can I?”

“Of course,” Vika answered immediately. “Take your time. If you’re hungry, I’ve got some leftover stew from last night I can heat up, or there’s water, tea, wine, whatever you like. Just come on in the living room.”

The women huddled in the kitchen while he was in the bathroom. “We are such idiots,” Meg moaned. “Crazy-misery-stalkers-are-us.”

“We thought he was getting kidnapped.” Vika insisted as she poured a glass of wine and passed one to Meg.

“I know, but, seriously, the whole idea was lunacy. What was I thinking? Just have a drink with him. Everything will be alright.” Meg drank half the glass in one long swallow. “Ugh.”

A knock sounded from the apartment door, and they looked at each other.

“Who could that be?” Vika asked.

“I thought Dani was out of town until next week?” Meg said at the same time.

Vika popped off the chain, turned the lock, and started to open the door handle; suddenly it burst open, and four men came into the room, guns drawn, faces covered with ski masks.

“What the hell?” Meg fell back against the counter.

“Where is he? Tell us and nobody has to get hurt.” The small one at the back growled.

“Who? What are you talking about?” The women exchanged quick glances; there could be no mistaking these men’s intentions.

“I think they mean me,” he said from the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. “Guys, isn’t this overkill? Everything is fine here. It’s just one big misunder …”

Before he finished his sentence, the men converged on him, grabbing his arms and wrestling him to the ground; silver flashed as they snapped handcuffs around his wrists, bending his shoulders behind him. He struggled, trying to kick them off, but there were too many of them. Yanking him to his feet, they started dragging him to the door.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He demanded, but the only answer was a fist to his chin.

“Shut up. You’re only alive because you’re worth more that way,” The small guy said.

“Hey, Jorge, what do we do with them?” One of the men asked the small guy, nodding towards Meg and Vika.

“Kill them. And don’t say my name, moron.” Jorge kept moving forward.

“No!” he shouted as two of the men turned to the women; Meg grabbed a pan from the stove top, and Vika pulled a butcher knife from the block on the counter, both looking terrified. “You’ll be losing money. They work for the studio; I know they’ll pay to get them back.”  It was the only thing he could think of to keep them alive.

The two men paused and looked askance; after a second, Jorge shrugged. “Extra money is always good. Take them too.”

* * *

 

For the second time that day, he woke up slowly, unsure where he was, brain slightly befuddled; the good news was that his head wasn’t hurting nearly as much, but he mouth was dry and a nasty taste was on his tongue. The soft rag under his head reeked of motor oil, and his toes pressed against metal.  At least his nose was buried in hair that smelled like vanilla, and soft bodies warmed his front and back as arms crossed over him …. What?

Flicking his eyes open, he took a moment to adjust to the modicum of light that was filtering into the space. Red hair in front of him, body spooned up to his, her arms pulled behind her, circling him around his waist and hands linked at the small of his back. Lush ass pressed up against his cock, each bump of the car causing it to rub and grind a little more. His own arms handcuffed behind him, pressed between his back and the body snuggled up, his hands resting in the soft vee of her thighs, fingers slipped between, caught by her body heat. Her breath on his neck, her arms around him, handcuffed together at his belly button, hands splayed out across his abs.

“Well, hell,” he muttered, and he felt them both stir.

“What happened?” Vika asked from behind him, her mouth so close it literally brushed along his neck.

“Damn it,” Meg cussed as she wiggled a little, and her hands slipped down to his ass just as his cock stirred in response to the all the brushing and touching. “They used chloroform on us.”

“There is something wedged into my back,” Vika complained; she arched away from it and succeeded in flattening her breasts on her back and causing his fingertips to drag across her mound as she moved. “Oh. Oh. Um, is that your…?”

“Sorry about that.” He tried to bend his elbows to move his hands, but that meant his hips pressed forward and Meg let out a breathy sound as his hard cock slotted neatly into the dip between her cheeks. “Yeah, look, I think we’re in a car’s trunk. That’s probably the latch in your back.”

“Oh, love, I KNOW that’s not a latch,” Meg said with a half-laugh, wiggling her fingers on his ass. “And I’m pretty sure that’s my hand on your …”

The vibration of the engine slowed down and the car came to a stop. Doors slammed and male voices were talking followed by hard-edged laughter.

“Don’t you think it’s too cold to leave them here?”

“I’m hungry and I have to pee.”

“Jorge said ….”

“I don’t give a fuck what Jorge said. I want dinner. They’ve got body warmth anyway.” The man gave a bark of a laugh. “Giving me ideas for next time I visit Rene and her sister.” 

The voices faded away; they held their breaths for a good five minutes.

“Look, as much as this is hitting all my kink buttons, I think we might be able to get out of here.” Vika spoke quietly. “My mother has this type of car, and there’s an emergency release lever in case someone gets locked in the trunk. We just have to untangle ourselves, and I think I remember where it is.”

“Handcuffs?” He asked; okay, he was in a tight situation, but his body was certainly interested and she had brought it up. Despite his fuzzy head and the evident danger, he did vaguely remember wishing for some time away from the grind of work. Ironic, huh?

Vika laughed. “Oh, god, yes, for me anyway. Meg’s the threesome fetish over there. So we’re firing on all cylinders when we add you in the middle.”

“God, Vicky, you don’t need to tell him that. Now we sound even more like sex-starved crazy women.” It was obvious from her voice that Meg was actually enjoying the banter. “And it’s not threesomes. I like hands.” To emphasize that, she waggled her fingers, brushing against his wrists and drumming along his ass.

“Tell you what, ladies, we get out of this with our parts all intact, and we can have a nice long conversation over drinks about our favorite kinks.” He offered, completely serious. “But right now, how can we get out of this trunk?”

“Meg, your arms are under mine right?”

“Yeah, I think so. They must have cuffed me last.”

“Can you scoot enough to slide them down?”

“Oh, I think I see what you mean.”

Meg bent her knees and lowered her body as far as she could, her ass sliding along his thighs towards his knees. Then she tried to move her arms down as well; he lifted his hips up, bracing his hands on Vika’s thighs to get leverage as Meg’s hands worked their way down his ass and along the back of his thighs.

“Unf,” he grunted as Meg’s handcuffs pushed into his balls from underneath. “That’s as far as you’re going unless I can straighten my legs.” He put his feet flat on the side of the trunk and pushed, bending at his shoulders. His head moved into the space vacated by Meg’s head just moments before, nose nuzzling into the crown of her hair; as he shifted, his hands dragged along Vika’s stomach until he was cupping her breasts in his palms.

“Oh,” she let out a little breathy jolt of pleasure, and he could feel the hardness of her nipples rubbing against him.

“Sorry,” he muttered and tried to change position, but he’d forgotten Vika’s arms linked around his waist, and as he moved, her hands nudged lower to cover his cock.

“Sorry,” she said in return when he bit back a little curse.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it.” Meg’s ass continued downward and her hands made it past his knees and to his calves before she stopped. “That’s it. I can go any farther. You’ll have to pull your legs free.”

Lifting one foot and then the other, he tried to remove them from the circle of her arms, kicking her a couple times in the process. Finally, he had to scrunch his knees up to get free, trapping Vika’s hands in his crotch and pushing back firmly into her breasts.

“Um, ready when you are, Vic,” Meg said, stretching back up and rolling until she could press herself along the car side of the trunk. The move put her face even with his, and her brown eyes were alive with humor as she took in the two of them. “Although that does look like fun …”

“Let me move forward some.” He managed to bump a couple of inches towards Meg, leaving a little space between them, and that only served to tighten Vika’s hands against his now very insistent cock. “Going to straighten out my legs again.”

Feet back on the side of the trunk, the move bent his neck forward and brought Meg’s face into his chest; she turned her head up and laid her cheek on him. It also let him move his hands off of Vika, but brought his knee up to the vee of Meg’s thighs, rubbing lightly.

“Sorr…” he started.

“No more apologies.” Meg gave a little groan. “We can deal.”

Vika had moved closer to him and, as he pushed up, she slid down. Now her breasts were just above the curve of his ass, her hands made it all the way to where his knee rested against Meg, and, damn if that wasn’t pretty sexy to think about as her fingers maneuvered their way over his kneecap, eliciting a series of little “ohs” from Meg as they passed between.

“Can you straighten up anymore?” Vika asked, trapped now, arms fully extended.

“No, sorry, I’d smother Meg. Can you go down?”

Meg made a little choking sound that was probably muffled laughter and buried her face into his chest; he could feel her body shaking as she tried to contain herself. Without thinking about it, he brushed a light kiss on her head and chuckled himself.

“Oh, good heavens,” Vika swore behind them. “It is pretty funny.”

She dropped her knees against the side of the trunk, finally able to bring her hands all the way down to his feet and thread them under. Unfortunately, her head was even with the bend of his ass; she tried to turn away, but only succeeded in getting a full-blown groan out of him.

“I’m not going to think about it,” he muttered; sliding his knee between Meg’s thighs only opened himself up for more rubbing from Vika’s movements. “Can you hurry this along?”

“So you like it fast?” Vika asked, amused. “Finished. I’m going to raise up and turn around to reach the handle.” As she did it, she managed to only graze his balls once with the handcuffs, and then she was rolling over and putting her back to him, lovely ass right into his hands. “You might want to roll over too.”

Meg’s body shook even harder, and he could hear a faint melody. “There were three in the bed and the little one said, ‘roll over’.”  He snorted at her choice of songs.

Giving Vika’s ass a light squeeze and a quick rub with his knee to Meg, he bit his lip hard to keep from either moaning or laughing as he tried to maneuver himself to face the other direction, onto his back first and then his other side.

“Didn’t we start out like this?” Meg asked, tongue-in-cheek.

“Indeed. But it was certainly fun getting here.” He answered.

“Opening the trunk now,” Vika said, and there was a muted ‘clunk’ as the hood popped open. She held it almost closed, just the tiniest of cracks to see outside. “Oh good, we’re parked in the back. Now we just have to figure out how to get out of here without being seen. With no money. And a famous person everyone will know. Easy as pie.”

“Don’t forget I still don’t have any shoes.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get steamy and the cops finally show up.

Of course, the weather gods decided just then that the skies need to open up and pour down in torrents. His bare feet were already bruised from the blocks they’d run, small cuts from the asphalt roads and uneven concrete sidewalks; now he was soaking wet in just a tee shirt and jeans, the coolness of the evening beginning to make him shiver. Vika and Meg weren’t much better off, hair wet, rivulets running down their necks; if there probably wasn’t someone on their trail right now, he’d make a comment about wet t-shirt contests, but he didn’t say it out loud. Didn’t mean he wasn’t looking because he was, after all, a red-blooded male with urges … and not staring at their breasts took some willpower.

“I believe I have a place we can go,” Vika said between chattering teeth.  “It is far, but no one should be looking for us there; if we only had some money, we could take transportation.”

“Wait, I have some cash. It’s in my front pocket, not much, but it might help.” He suddenly remembered the bill he’d given the bartender and the change he’d stuck in his pants rather than his wallet. Unfortunately, his hands were cuffed behind his back; he shrugged, grinned and pushed his hip forward at the women.

“I’ll do it,” Meg said to Vika. “You got to feel him up in the trunk.” With her hands cuffed together in front of her, she could wiggle fingers down but her other hand had to rest on his hip as she did. Fishing around she caught something and pulled.

“My phone!” He stared at it for a moment. “I must have put it there after I called Lou. We can phone for help.”

“No way.” Meg shook her head; after a few fumbling tries, she powered it down. “GPS tracking. They’ve got your number already; that’s probably how they found us at Vika’s; you called Lou and they tracked us back. We can’t take the chance.” At his look, she huffed. “Don’t you watch your movies? Everyone knows to get rid of it and get a burn phone.” There was a dumpster just around the corner; she tossed the phone in with the rest of the garbage.

“Hey!” He started to protest, but, really, with all the insanity going on around him, what was one smart phone in the grand scheme of things?

“We should move away from this location,” Vika added. “Did you find the money?”

This time Meg switched hands to delve down into bottom of the pocket, fingers brushing along his thigh and against his cock which twitched in response. Her free hand hovered over his crotch, moving as the metal bracelets pulled against the edge of the pocket.

“Oh, god, I can’t decide if this is awkward or hot as hell,” she came up with a handful of bills and passed them over to Vika, who did a quick estimate.

“Okay, this is good. If we take the Gesal, we’ll have enough for something to eat too. Come on.” She led the way across the street, cutting through alleys and down smaller roads to get out of the residential section they were in to a busy street. People wandered along the sidewalk, past the store fronts – restaurants, small grocers, a drug store, clothing outlets – and cars whipped in and out of a steady flow of traffic.

“There’s one. This route should take us where we want to go.” Vika pointed to a yellow mini-bus with an open door. “Come on.” She sprinted to catch it before it left, and a quick discussion in Russia with the driver ensued before she ushered them in where there were two open seats in the back row.

“Um, there’s only two …” Meg started, but Vika shushed her with a motion.

“We share.” Vika pushed in, shoving her way through the other passengers, one a very large man who was taking up two of the four back seats. 

“Oh, hell, here goes.” Meg went next, clambering over the beefy thighs.

“Blyat, Cuda ti pryosh?” the man asked. There was no need to understand Russian to know that it wasn’t a polite question.

“Sorry?” Meg offered but only got a glower.

He stood for a second, couldn’t believe he was going to do this, then he hoisted himself up and climbed over the middle seat, wet clothes dripping on the two middle-aged women perched there as he snaked his way between them.  He tried to turn himself around gracefully – if this had been a stunt in one of his movies, he’d have slipped easily into what little space remained, but it wasn’t, and he face planted right into Vika’s lap, scrambling to keep himself from flopping over on the big man or kicking another passenger with his feet. Pushing his hip, Meg tried to help, ending up with a handful of his ass instead. Somehow, he elbowed his way upright – digging into Vika’s stomach and Meg’s boobs along the way – and got his butt planted sideways on the crack between the seats. Shoved into the window, between the side of the van and the seat in front of them, Vika‘s back was pressed tightly along the glass; Meg sucked in her stomach and curved her back into him, trapping his body between theirs. Even then, her knees were touching the big man, who glared angrily at them, huffing out a garlicky breath as the driver slammed the door and started the engine. With a jerk, the van lurched into the traffic, narrowly missing an oncoming truck and causing three cars to slam on their breaks.

“Fuck,” he muttered as they slammed together at the abrupt motion; he turned, trying to drag Meg onto his lap and scoot himself over until there was a little breathing room for Vika, but his hands were still cuffed behind his back, trapped; he only succeeded in settling Meg’s ass more firmly against his cock. His knees jammed into the seat in front of them; Meg had to drop her legs off either side to find room for her feet, and she tried to hold onto his thighs to keep upright.

“Gesal is not for the faint of heart,” Vika said just as the driver took a left turn, barely slowing down. Thrown by the centripetal force, they careened sideways, his hands now pressed into Vika’s crotch, shoulder and elbow against the softness of her breasts as Meg slid off his lap. She tried to brace herself on the seat in front with her cuffed hands, but her ass hit the seat between them and the angry man glowered at the metal around her wrists.

“Turn around and put your hands around my neck. We’ll anchor you between us.” Meg stared at him for a second, doubt evident on her face.

“Go between them? What do you mean go between them?” Meg asked with a fake German accent before she muttered, “I feel like I’m in an Indiana Jones movie.” She turned to the left, and he bit his tongue to stop the choked moan as her ass twisted against him. Moving as far forward as he could, he pulled his hands behind his back again—and out of Vika’s very warm and inviting crotch. Meg ducked her head and then settled her hands around his shoulders; he trapped them there with his back. Leaning in, Vika put her hands around Meg’s neck, shifting until her chest was against his side and her chin on his shoulder.

“Did we not just get out of this situation?” Vika asked, lips almost kissing his skin.

The van took a hard left, cutting across the lanes and running a red light; he flexed every muscle he could to keep them from tumbling into angry garlic guy; bodies collided – he had a mouthful of Meg’s hair as two sets of breasts flattened on his chest, and Meg’s thigh was between his legs and rubbing along a very sensitive part while Vika’s mouth pressed into his neck with a brush of tongue, soft warm breath tickling his ear.  His cock hardened despite the cold denim, the friction too much to ignore. By the time the van straightened out, Meg was shaking; he tilted his head back to see her face. Teeth biting on her bottom lip, she was holding in her laughter.

“I’d ask if that’s a cell phone in your pocket, but we both know what it is,” she whispered, voice trembling.

Vika lifted her head from the crook of his neck, just above the soft collar of his tee. “Don’t you start,” she said to her friend, but she was grinning.

“Ladies, when we get where we’re going, I’m going to show you exactly what’s in my pocket,” he murmured, and he meant it. Despite being cold and wet and on the run from crazy kidnappers, he was absolutely interested, his body all too aware of the two lovely women currently in residence on his lap.

With a squeal of tires – he got an up close and personal face full of Meg’s very fine set of breasts on the way forward and another kiss from Vika’s mouth on the way back – the van stopped in front of a building, disgorging two passengers from the front. Fortunately, no one else got on. The angry man made no attempt to move, however, only continuing to stare at them as if they were circus freaks. It was no wonder; the best they could hope for was that people thought there was some strange kinky sex thing going on. Which, with the way his body was reacting, he certainly hoped might be true.  As soon as the others were off, the driver sped away, zipping so close to cars that it was a miracle they didn’t clip a bumper; once they passed a tourist bus with literally only a hair’s breadth between the two windows. An Asian couple snapped some pictures of them in the back seat; he ducked his head behind Meg’s and Vika turned her shoulder to hide his face.

Finally, the van came to a second stop, and Vika nodded that this was where they got out. Taking pity on them, the two ladies in the middle moved to the front; Meg went over the seat on her back, landing and twisting until she was able to crawl out head first. He and Vika followed, easing themselves out without touching the other man who watched them with a pissed off look. They waited until the van had departed before Vika led them away on a good 10 minute walk to their destination -- a university professor’s five room flat.

“He and his wife always go away during break,” Vika told them as they trudged onward, the rain having turned to a drizzle, still enough to soak through their half-dried clothes. “When he had a Fulbright, I stayed there during my time at University. Sometimes I still water their plants for them when they are gone.” She led them up the front stairs and buzzed; an older woman’s voice answered and, after a quick conversation in Russian, they were in the foyer. Opening the mail slot, Vika slipped both hands inside and came out with a taped key which she waved in triumph. The place was on the top floor; Vika explained that the professor had bought two separate flats and combined them.

Once they got inside, locking the door behind them, Vika made her way into the kitchen, opened the freezer and pulled out a bottle of Russian vodka, pouring three full shot glasses. Offering one to him, Vika took hers and downed the shot quickly, Meg following suit, then filling them up again. The liquor went down smooth, with a smoky edge, and it burned a warm path in his throat to his stomach.

 “You broke out the good stuff.” He took the second shot, feeling himself starting to relax as the warmth spread. “I needed that.”

“Next, let’s get these cuffs off,” Vika rummaged in a junk drawer and came up with a paper clip. Bending the end, she worked on one cuff, bracing her hand on the counter. In a few seconds the ring popped open. “These are the cheap kind, easy to break.”  Taking off the other one, she reached for Meg’s hands and jiggled the wire for a few seconds, opening them too.

“You know how to pick handcuff locks?” He shouldn’t be all that surprised; so far they’d both managed to impress him with their ability to deal with strange situations; he offered his cuffs to her.

“Maybe, we’ll just leave them?” The gleam in her eyes was only half-way joking, and the combined heat of the look and the vodka stirred him right back up to attention even after the walk in the rain.  With a sexy laugh, she took his hands and held one as she unlocked the cuffs. “Learned this from an old boyfriend. Said everyone should know how to get out of handcuffs to avoid being embarrassed. He was a cop and used to tell stories about helping people who had lost the keys.”

“We should call him.” Meg was suddenly serious. “Alexey. He’s what, a detective now?”

“No.” Vika shook her head and dropped the open cuffs on the counter. “No.”

“We need the help.”

Watching the byplay between them, he could feel the tension radiating off Vika.

“Last I heard he was living with someone, a nice girl from what his mother told my mother.” She really didn’t want to do this, but she sighed anyway and walked over to pick up the phone. “And, yes, he could help. I will call him.”

He raised an eyebrow in question. “The once and future,” Meg said.

“Meg,” Vika warned as she dialed on the landline; Meg scrunched up her nose at her friend before she leaned over to continue in his ear.

“Old flame. He wanted to get married, but she wanted to study abroad.” Meg offered.

“And the future?” The way Vika was speaking now, in hushed tones laced with hesitation, told him enough about the situation.

“His family never liked her so he’s dating a girl his mom fixed him up with. Won’t last, and they both have hard heads. I still hold out hope.” Meg took the vodka bottle, poured three more shots, and then put the bottle back in the freezer. With a practiced flick, she downed the contents of her glass and pushed Vika’s over to where she was explaining their situation in a calmly, logical voice.  As soon as she paused to listen to Alexey’s response, Vika drank the clear liquor and grimaced; the man’s voice on the other end of the call could be heard through the earpiece. Alexey was definitely reading Vika the riot act.

“I’m thinking dry would be nice,” he said, tossing back his third shot. By now, the alcohol’s effects were beginning to rise to his head; the slowly drying jeans and shirt were uncomfortable, and he tugged at his waist band. “And warm feet, yeah, that would be good.”

Putting a hand over the receiver, Vika pointed down the hallway. “There’s a dryer in the bathroom. Help yourself to clothes in the closets. I’ll make sure everything gets cleaned and returned.” Then she went back to her conversation.  

He wandered back the hallway and found a refurbished bathroom – large claw foot tub with a hand shower and clear plastic curtain, small washer/dryer combo, a cabinet full of fluffy towels. Best of all, a warmer hung on the wall; taking three towels out, he turned the coils on and draped the fabric over the rungs. Off came his shirt just as Meg came in behind him; she stopped.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll just …” she started to back out of the room.

“I’ve got towels warming and the tub is big enough for us all. A hot shower is what we need right now.” He unbuttoned his jeans as he turned the faucets to start the water running. “Now, let’s get out of these wet clothes, shall we? Unless I’ve gotten my signals crossed along the way?” The smile he gave her made good on his earlier promises and gave her the choice at the same time.

“Lyosha wasn’t as angry as I thought he would be. He wants us to stay put until he calls back; he is going to look into the case.” She stopped talking, tense as she eyed his bare chest and the flush on Meg’s cheeks. “Um, am I interrupting?”

“We were just discussing the need for a hot shower and taking off these clothes,” he eased towards her and caught her elbow with his hand. “Enough room for all of us.” The unspoken question hung in the air for a moment, and then Vika pulled open one of the bottom drawers of the vanity, rooted around and came out with a string of foil packets.

“А to,” she laughed as she tugged her shirt over her head, tossing it into the open dryer. “How do you say it?” She looked at her friend.

“Hell, yes,” Meg struggled as wet cotton twisted around her hips. Turns out, wet jeans were difficult to get down, clinging to thighs and legs as hands popped open buttons and pulled down zippers; there was lots of hopping on one foot and cussing at the scrunched up heavy material with laughter mixed in. Finally, they divested themselves of any covering until they were all standing naked, steam beginning to rise from the tub. As she tried to cover herself with her hands, he caught Meg’s wrists, pulling her arms away.

“I know I’m not skinny,” she started, embarrassment creeping up her cheeks.

“You are both gorgeous. Real.” He slid his hands up her arms, down her side to curve over her hips. “Curves to hold on to.” His hand brushed across the rounded contour of her abdomen, fingers skirting just above the line of dark hair in the apex of her thighs. “Sexy as hell.”  Gathering her in with a hand on her hip and another on her chin, he tugged forward until the tip of his hard cock bumped against her, tilted her head and kissed her gently. “I like your body.” He smiled and smacked her backside lightly. “Now get that lovely ass in the shower, so I can wash every inch of you.”

She climbed in first, after starting the shower; he followed, hand outstretched to Vika to help her over the slippery edge. Dipping her head under the water, Meg took the shower gel and worked up a lather before turning to hand it over to him, stepping back so he could move under the stream; reaching up, he angled the shower head so that Vika felt the moist heat that sprayed over his shoulder. Hands began to explore, slicking up skin as they went – Meg’s on his chest trailing soap suds as she moved downward, Vika’s covering his back from shoulder to hip, curing under his ass and back up between his cheeks. They didn’t need the steam of the water to make their own steam; each new touch raised the temperature of the room.

With Meg in front of him, he went for her breasts, cupping them easily with his hands, running calloused fingers over her nipples, teasing them to hardness as she gasped and moaned.  She retaliated with fingers circling on his thighs, up the ticklish skin, moving ever closer until they brushed his very insistent cock which was straining forward.  Vika’s hands changed to kisses, mouth tasting each knob of his spine as she worked her way down his back, her fingers racing ahead to slip between his legs and lightly squeeze his balls. Meg’s hand drew along the head of cock, and he couldn’t help but thrust forward.

“Fuck,” he murmured; he was already worked up from their little adventure in the trunk and in the van and now, the feather light touches of their hands only added to his desire.  With a moan, he bent forward and caught Meg’s nipple with his mouth, sucking hard; she clenched her hand and used the slide of the soap to pump him in response. Reaching back, he found Vika’s waist and pulled her flush against his back, lifting her leg to wrap around his waist and anchor her there. Her hands came around him, one joining Meg’s as they stroked his cock and balls, the other teasing his nipples, until he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t imagine doing anything that sinking himself deep inside them, one after the other.  “I need  ...” he ground out; Meg turned and shut off the faucet, opening the curtain. The whole room was heavy with humid air, the mirror foggy with condensation. With a look, they decided for him; Meg stepped out first, and his eyes followed her luscious body. She held out a hand and he followed, not bothering with a towel as he trapped her body between his and the counter, kissing his way down between her breasts, over the curve of her stomach, to part her thighs and delve his tongue into her wet and ready body, sucking her clit and rubbing with his teeth until she was begging, a steady litany of please and yes. He answered her by looking up at her face and giving her a roguish grin before he sank a finger inside her body; standing he worked his finger in and out, fucking her until she was pulsing around him, then adding another finger and yanking her knee to his hip to open her further.

Vika caught his eye; reflected in the mirror, she was leaning on the edge of the tub, watching them as her fingers were circling her hard nipples. When she saw him, she smiled and let her hand glide down as she parted her legs so she could please herself, her eyes drifting closed at the touch of her fingers. His cock jumped at the image, and he scrabbled for the packets Vika had left on the counter. Meg got one first, using her teeth to open it and then rolling the condom down over him with her fingers. Cupping Meg’s ass, lifting her until she was sitting on the edge of the vanity, she was so ready that he drove in with ease, her tightness closing on his aching cock. Locking her ankles behind his back, she wound her hands into his short hair and pulled his mouth to hers, tongue matching him as he moved, shallow pulses shifting to long hard thrusts that rocked both of their bodies until she could only bury her face in the curve of his neck and sob with her coming climax. Vika’s moans kept him returning to the mirror as she fucked herself with her fingers, her eyes wide and dilated with passion.

Feeling Meg clench around him, he rubbed her clit one more time, dipping his hand between them, and she fell, flying apart for him with his name nothing more than a choked whisper as she came.  He held her tight, hand clenching on her hips as he pushed himself to his own climax, muscles tensing and releasing as he came. Resting his head on her shoulder, he saw Vika shudder, her fingers working quickly; dropping a kiss on Meg’s head, he slipped out of her and turned, dropping to his knees and moving Vika’s hand, replacing it with his tongue. She cried out as his fingers found clit and set a brutal pace of rubbing, tongue thrusting into her warm wetness until her orgasm roared through her and left her gasping for breath, balancing precariously on the slippery tub. Sinking back onto the floor, he laid on the cool tile, riding the after effects as they rolled through his body.

“Damn.”  He shouldn’t be, but for some reason he was overcome with a fit of the giggles. “Fuck. Seriously? I don’t think I’m moving. This is nice here. Yeah. I’m staying right here.” He couldn’t stop laughing suddenly. “You two dragging me through the streets – how the hell did you get me in that clown car?” He felt Meg’s toes as she sank down to sit on the floor, her feet burrowed under his side. “Contortions in the trunk? With handcuffs? That you, of course, just happened to know how to unlock with a paper clip.” Vika sat down on the other side, and he rubbed a hand on her thigh and another over Meg’s calf. “That van, bus, thing? Oh hell.” He was laughing so hard he was crying. “And I’d do it all again to have really amazing sex with you. God yes. Give me a little bit to recover, and we’ll do it again.”

“With handcuffs this time.” Vika smiled, and damn if a little frisson of awareness didn’t stir his exhausted cock.

“With handcuffs.  And a bed.” He pushed up on his elbows. “But food first. I’m hungry. You said we had enough money, right?”

“I am not going out,” Meg sighed, smiled at him, and he forgot the thread of conversation for a second.

“There’s a shawarma place that delivers. Cheap and good.” Vika somehow managed to push up from the floor; he still didn’t have the energy to do more than look and appreciate. “I’ll call.”

“Shawarma?” He said and dropped back on the floor with another fit of laughter. “Of course.”

* * *

 

“I needed that. Can’t do too many shots on an empty stomach.” Vika crumpled up the empty paper her food had been wrapped in and tossed it into bag on the floor. “Fortunately, someone distracted me earlier.”

“Good thing you didn’t find these lovely lounge pants before,” Meg laughed, “or we’d all have lost it.”

They’d searched for something to put on before the food arrived; a pair of loose sweat pants for him and tee shirts to go around were easy, but Vika had on a pair of bright purple stripped bottoms with kittens on them and Meg had a pair that were neon orange plaid. They’d all shared a good laugh at the look on the delivery boy’s face when Vika answered the door.

“Speaking of vodka,” he got off the stool and opened the freezer to top off his glass, sipping slowly, swirling the melting ice in his glass.  Meg ate her last bite and leaned back; the man’s white t-shirt pulled across her breasts hanging full and loose beneath the cotton. Interest spiked; oh yeah, they’d spent enough time laughing and eating for his body to be ready for another go. Walking up behind her, he kissed her neck lightly, running a hand along her arm before he moved back to his seat.

“Still not a word from Alexey,” Meg noted, her eyes darkening.

“Well, then, we just have to think of ways to amuse ourselves until he calls, don’t we?” Vika finished off her drink and walked the empty glass to the sink; turning she picked up one of the open set of handcuffs on the counter. “Shall we?”

He watched her go, hips swaying in those hideous pants, and he followed, catching Meg’s hand as they crossed into the other room.  Starting towards the bed, hands caught him and held him still; two very determined sets of eyes stared at him.

“Ah, I see.” He smiled as he held out his arms. “Do as you will, ladies.”

Meg pulled the edge of his shirt up, and he raised his arms so she could get it over his head. Vika’s hands tucked inside the band of his sweats and tugged them down, dropping to her knees so he could step out of them, one foot at a time; half-hard already, the air hit his cock and blood rushed, Vika’s lovely lips  and sexy eyes looking up at him finished the job.  Fingers curled around his ass, squeezing as he felt Meg’s soft breasts, freed from her shirt, rub across his back; Vika stayed where she was, her mouth tantalizingly close, so near he could feel her breath on his cock. Her tongue flicked out, catching the first drop that appeared, and he groaned at the sensation of her quick teasing swirls. His balls grew heavy as Meg’s arms circled his chest, fingers catching his nipples, rolling them as little charges of lust made his cock jump.

“Oh, god,” he groaned and reached his hands down, intending to catch the red strands of Vika’s hair.

“No.” Meg caught his wrists and stopped him. “No hands.”

Vika pulled back, and he couldn’t stop the sigh of disappointment; she took one of his wrists and then they were pushing him back to the bed. Excitement bubbled up; with a shove, they sat him down, but when he started to lay his head on the pillow, they turned him the opposite way, hands down at the footboard; one hand went under the metal crossbar, the other on top and cuffs clicked in place. The position left his hands hanging out of the end of the bed, and in just a second, it became clear what they intended.

“Meg likes your hands,” Vika said as she shimmied out of her shirt and pants then climbed on the bed; she tossed a foil packet by his side. Straddling him, she leaned in, bringing her mouth to his. “And I have this thing about riding tied up men. Hope you don’t mind.”

The kiss was hot and hard; he jerked his hips up as her tongue swept into his mouth. Handcuffs rattled as he forgot and tried to reach for her, and then Meg’s hands were holding his, running fingers along fingers, stroking each one, front and back. Vika left his mouth, lifting up until her breasts were in front of him, and he took her nipple in his mouth, working it with his tongue until it was hard, and she was arching into him before he switched to the other.  He felt Meg’s breasts fill his hands and he stroked her to hardness as he suckled Vika, listening to their tandem breathy moans. Vika moved, trailing kisses downward – neck, chest – nipping at his nipples until he jerked up again and swore out loud.

“Fuck.” He was already leaking, and she let her body drag over his aching head as she shifted, kissing and licking as she went.  Meg moved as well and began to lick his fingers, dropping kisses onto his palms and wrists; he had never thought of his hands as an erogenous zone, but, damn, her touches were going right to his cock, stealing all the blood from his brain until he couldn’t think. Then Vika’s lips parted and slid down his cock, so wet and hot, and Meg sucked his thumb into her mouth at the same time, and he almost came up off the bed. The pull of Vika’s mouth, her tongue running up along the vein, and the swirl of Meg’s tongue as she tasted each finger pushed him right to the edge of his own release as they continued for what seemed like forever, a constant flow of pleasure washing over his body.

“Oh, god, I think I’m going to …” he warned.

Vika lifted her head, and Meg stopped.  “Not yet,” Vika said as she opened the package and rolled the condom on; straddling him again, she lowered herself, easing him in until he was deep inside, and she was seated all the way down, exquisite and tormenting at the same time.

“Vika,” he breathed her name, a plea to not stop.  Meg’s hand grazed along his arms to his shoulders, and she leaned over him, standing at the end of the bed.  Her kiss was slow and deliberate

“Like that?” she asked when she lifted up to look in his eyes.

“Fucking hell. You are going to kill me,” he groaned with a grin, enjoying every minute of the delicious torture. She moved and he felt the soft skin of her inner thighs as she pressed them around his hands, his fingers brushing against her wet cunt.

“Ready?” Vika’s voice was broken and needy, just like he felt; he could barely manage a nod as she rose up on her knees and sank back down.  She leaned forward onto her hands and began to ride him in earnest, fast strokes that he gave equal force, hips jacking up to meet her.  Fingers sank inside of Meg, thrusting and turning until he heard her sob and jerk as he found the right spot, the tangle of nerves; mercilessly, he keep working it, and she grabbed the frame next to his arms to hold herself as she leaned over to take his mouth again, tongue twisting with his. Her eyes glazed as she shifted to one side, and then Vika was kissing him, breathing ragged, her hips moving faster and faster; he could see both of their faces as they tipped over the edge and shattered, feel their bodies clench tight and shake, and he followed close behind with a few more thrusts, releasing himself, brain going white for a few minutes. When he finally could think again, his hands were freed and the two women were curled up on either side of him, bodies draped across his.  Curling his arms around them, he snuggled them closer.

The phone rang. Vika started up quickly.

“Lyosha!” She grabbed a shirt and pants off the floor, doing a one-footed jig as she tried to get dressed.

“What are you doing?” Meg asked, barely lifting her head from his chest.

“I can’t answer the phone without clothes!” Vika declared.  Jamming her arms into the holes, she thrust her head into the collar as she ran for the kitchen.

“He won’t know you’re naked,” Meg shouted after her then chuckled.

“Once and future,” he said, making Meg laugh harder.

“Told you.” Sitting up, she looked completely debauched; he felt proud of that. “You need help up?”

“Do I need help?” He pushed her off and rolled over the edge; taking off the condom, he tossed it into the garbage, and then picked up his sweats and shirt. “Guess we should get dressed; probably going to have company. Maybe our clothes are dry by now.” Intending to make his way to the bathroom, he donned the oversized sweat pants and strolled out in the hallway just in time to see the door burst open; men with guns and ski masks spilled into the entryway.

“Hands up!” they shouted in broken English. “Stay or else!” They were spreading out through the flat, and, within seconds, they were all three corralled into lounge and shoved into dining table chairs, wrists handcuffed behind them.

“Here we are again,” he said. “Every time I have fewer and fewer clothes, though.”

“That’s the best part of the whole day,” Meg quipped; the thug behind her smacked her in the back of the head, growling to shut up. He started to rise from his chair, but hand pushed him back down.

“Do not be hero.” One of the thugs warned him, gun pointed at Vika’s head. “Bullets fast, no?”

“Damn it, all you were supposed to do is hold him until the studio paid up,” the voice said from the doorway. Lou stood there, shaking his head. “Look at him! He’s bruised and beat up! We can’t have him looking like this for the premiere.”

“Lou? What the hell?” Okay, he did look pretty bad --- the bruise on his temple was turning a lovely shade of purple – but Lou? He looked at Meg, who gave him a brief nod, and then Vika, whose eyes tracked over to the kitchen counter and back. Glancing, he saw the wall phone; the receiver wasn’t on it, cord disappearing behind the coffeemaker.

“Sorry. This isn’t really about you. I owe them money, you see.  My last film, it didn’t do so well, and I couldn’t recoup their ‘investment’ as fast as they would have liked. So they decided on this little plan. Just a snatch and grab, the studio pays, nothing bad happens, and everyone is happy.” Lou took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Now I’ve got this mess on my hands.”

“Well, yeah, what made you hire that Chinese director for a live action movie of a kid’s show anyways?” Buy time, buy time. If Alexey was on the other end of the phone, the police would be on the way. “Anyone could see that was a disaster in the making.”

“He’d won awards! And, damn it, that show had a lot of depth to be mined. I blame the whole 3D conversion. I told him not to do it.” Lou argued back, face going red as he got angry. “It should have been a slam dunk.  And no one would have been any wiser when the payouts came.”

“Laundering money for the Russian mob? How did you end up doing that?” He had to keep Lou talking.

“I borrowed some money to finance that little indie film; you know the one that got great reviews at Cannes? Didn’t make shit at the theatres, but it got noticed by the right people. Of course, I couldn’t pay it back, but they needed a way to clean their profits, and I got my name out there. Pretty damn good trade until now.” Stomping his feet, Lou slammed a hand into the wall. “What am I supposed to do? Look at you! You’re handcuffed; this isn’t some damn action movie. And you’ve dragged these two into it? Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.”

“So when I called you, you tracked the phone? But how did you find us here?”

“Delivery boy recognized you and called the tip line. The security firm is owned by the mob. They were part of this.”  Lou glared. “I’ve warned you before about needing a hat and sunglasses. It’s dangerous to go about on your own.”

“Boss says no witnesses,” the thug with the gun to Vika’s head said.

“No, no, no. Killing him will tank the movie. They’ll postpone the opening, and I need the money now, not later when the nostalgia factor kick sets in.”

“Politsia!” The call rang out as the police flooded into the apartment, guns drawn. Jerking his chair to the side, he toppled over in Vika’s direction, aiming for the guy holding the gun, but he was already jumping back to avoid Vika, who had knocked her chair over and was rolling onto her side. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her under the table as Meg joined them.

“Waistband,” Meg said to him. “Paper clip is in my waist band.”  Soon as he realized what she was saying, he tucked his fingers down her pants and found the bent paper clip Vika had used to unlock the cuffs earlier.  Passing it over, the Russian went to work quickly, opening his first, then Meg’s. She was still fiddling with her own when the room got quiet and booted feet crossed to the table.

“Vika?” A concerned face appeared as a man knelt down and looked at them; he took in the loud pants and askew t-shirts on the women with a raised eyebrow.  “You must be Meg.”

“Oh, yeah, nice to finally meet you, Alexey,” Meg said, a rueful smile on her face. “It’s _really good_ that you’re here.”

“And you must be Jeremy.” Alexey offered his hand, and Jeremy shook it as the cop took in his disheveled state – hair standing at all angles, nothing but a pair of sweat pants, bruise at his temple, on his arms and around his wrists. “I would say I am a fan, but this is awkward time.”

“Lyosha,” Vika said; she’d gotten her cuffs off, and she crawled out from under the table first. “Spasiba.”

“Pazhalsta.” The detective offered his hand to Meg. “Now we need to take you to the station and get statements.”

“Um, can we get our clothes? They’re in the dryer.” Meg asked and then glanced over. “And a hat and sunglasses?”

* * *

 

“I must say this is much nicer than our other rides together.”

Vika sipped champagne from the crystal flute, watching the crowds through the tinted windows as the limousine crawled slowly through the traffic.  Smoothing a fold out of the green silk dress, manicure peeping out in brand new heels, she smiled at the other occupants of the car.

“Oh, I don’t know. I sort of miss the angry dude’s bad breath,” Meg laughed, tilting her glass in a mock toast. She’d opted for a simple black dress, elegant and flared at the waist. “And I certainly could do with a little more groping.”

“Plenty of time for that later, ladies.” He straightened the tie on his silver suit and gave them a sexy grin. “Red carpet, then movie, then party, and then I’m all yours until my flight leaves tomorrow afternoon.”

The car came to a stop and the door opened. “Here we go,” he said as he exited first; reaching back he offered his hand to Vika and then Meg. The blinding flashes of light were overwhelming for a few seconds; he linked his arms with theirs. Then Meg leaned over to whisper in his ear.

 “I have to say, I’m pretty tired of handcuffs,” Meg said, eyes alight with mischief. “Aren’t you, Vika?”

“Quite right. I’m thinking rope. Or something else. Is that tie silk?” She winked at him.

He shook his head in disbelief as they began to move down the carpet, his cock stirring at the thought of two redheads blindfolded with his ties.  Ah well, explaining his very evident hard-on in the pictures was just a footnote in the bigger kidnapping story, right?


End file.
